Time to Speak the Truth
Let me preface this by saying I’ve been unable to sit down and read a book with any enjoyment for awhile now, though heaven knows, I’ve tried on several occasions. The exception was a new one by Mercedes Lackey from her Elemental Masters series.
Like “The Power of Now” which fell on my head one day, after a couple of failed attempts to get past the first few pages, “Untamed” by Glennon Doyle, blew into my life like a whirlwind when the time came for me to order it (in hardback even!) and read it…or rather, devour it. The reading went slowly, as every few pages, I had to pull out my phone, or sit down at the computer to write a few more words, sentences, or paragraphs. Ms. Doyle’s words triggered a lot of things I had overcome from my own past (or thought I had), or more accurately, continue to work on.
Some stories, I’ll tell over and over again, using different words because the more time that passes, and the more words I write, the more I reveal about myself, and feel inclined to share as she does, because I know, just as I knew I needed to read her words, someone out there needs to read mine to help them unlock a few more doors on their own journey of self-discovery, and self-actualization.
The Beginning of the Big Reveal
On December 27th, 1993 my mother ended her life. Call it a choice, commitment, completion, exhaustion, or just, plain suicide. Whatever name you call it, the one thing I’m certain of now is it was her life to do with as she pleased. At the time, I felt she could have picked neither a better, nor a worse time. Better, because it removed a tiny bit of pressure from my life that manifested as her displeasure and criticism over how I chose to manage my own life (or mismanage if if you were to ask her opinion).
The worst, because the granddaughters who adored her already lived in turmoil, two years into an ugly divorce with no end in sight, and a mother who was a gigantic, rubber-band ball of stress. Not only was I trying to keep all the balls in the air, but the balls seemed to be baby otters, evading all my efforts at control, and every choice I made; every direction I turned, seemed to be the wrong one.
Whether it was self-care (or more accurately, lack thereof), or disastrous, soul-sucking jobs, and fair weather friends, I was less mentally and emotionally stable than the two six-year-olds depending on me to keep them safe. I drifted on a sea of self-loathing, in a boat built of bitterness at my life, my world, and the fate I had come to believe I deserved, for crimes I couldn’t begin to imagine. Why would my life be in the toilet if I didn’t deserve it somehow? My mother spent her lifetime reminding me of all my failures and transgressions. There had to be some truth to her words, right?
It never occurred to me back then I was creating my own reality; my own misery by wrapping it around me like a security blanket. I had no idea I could cast it aside any time I wanted to…or dared.
Collateral Damage
In a lot of ways, Dad’s suicide 10 years later was more of a footnote to mom’s story than a story of his own, just as I was a footnote until I decided to start writing out my anger, pain, and bitterness, and detaching myself from what wasn’t, and never had been my life; my purpose. Both of us had grown accustomed to being the ions swirling around the nucleus that was my mom. Her mercurial moods ensured we were perpetually off-balance, and waiting for the next shoe to drop. Though heaven knows neither of us expected the final shoe she dropped, nor what it would do to the precarious balancing act we’d made of our lives.
Like true Levensteins, we both pulled deeper into ourselves, sharing nothing of the grief, anger, blame, and pain we carried, and of course, we didn’t ask for help. In fact, it was years after Dad was gone before I even thought about what he’d gone through after finding his wife of 40 years lying dead in the bed they’d shared. I was too busy trying to keep my life from reaching the final tipping point before completely self-destructing. Knowing my dad, he neither asked for help, nor shared his deepest, darkest feelings with anyone; not even his closest friends.
As I had no friends, close or otherwise until many years later, keeping it all to myself, though far from easy, was a no-brainer. No one on Earth wanted to hear my troubles, and there wasn’t a single soul who’d understand…or so I believed at the time. Thankfully, that’s one false belief I’ve long since tossed into the garbage heap, and have made it part of my own life’s purpose to banish from the face of the planet for others like me carried the utterly false belief of being unworthy. One of many.
Ungentle Persuasion
To say I’m grateful for all the perils and pitfalls of a life I didn’t begin to take control of until about 13 years ago is the understatement of the century. I know it sounds strange, but in hindsight, I realize I needed a gigantic kick in the butt…nay, TWO gigantic kicks in the butt to wipe the sludge from my eyes, and put an end to the lifelong belief I deserved a life of misery, or the one that said I had committed heinous crimes that were never spoken of, or revealed. My only crime was my inability to fit in where I was “supposed” to. I never learned the social games, nor how to make myself small and stay there. I never excelled at the right things, nor squeezed my recalcitrant body into the proper shape, with the right kind of hair.
I let my words run away with me, whether spoken, or written. I rarely looked before I leaped, or thought before I spoke. Needless to say, I was always in trouble with someone, somewhere, beaten down for so long, I believed I had to be the one who was wrong. I’ve since learned I somehow had, and still have an indomitable spirit. Despite years of loneliness and depression, and because the words must spew forth, even if, for years, they were only for myself, I developed a tolerance for pain which allows me to fall down 7 times, and get up 8 no matter how much damage I sustain on the way down.
I’ve learned to talk about the difficult, the taboo, and the socially inelegant because those things NEED to be said; need to be written, and need to be brought out into the light where they can be examined, and found to be more important than trying to maintain a false image of perfection, or compliance. I wasn’t born to be silent, nor compliant, and frankly, it was killing me to try for so long. Being drop-kicked out of those expectations, not only by my parents’ deaths, but by my birth family’s desertion shortly thereafter were unequivocally the best things that could have happened to me.
When the Prison Breaks Itself
I no longer had anyone I was trying to fit in with; anyone I thought I needed to earn love from. I was free to confront and unpack all the dark, ugly, rebellious, different parts of myself I wasn’t meant to hide. The decades of doing so had made me angry, but they’d also made me strong. I’d failed on every, single level, as far as the people I thought mattered were concerned. With the cattle-prod wielding Queen of Jewish Guilt gone from my life, there was no one important enough to disapprove to stop me from doing and saying what I pleased, or of living my life by my own, yet-to-be-determined rules.
I also had a solid purpose which continues to evolve, but will always center around the need to not only talk about mental health loudly, openly, and often, but to encourage people to live lives which do NOT lead to impaired mental health in the first place. It means speaking out against the horrific indoctrination thrust upon children, and blow away every per-conceived notion about what does and does not constitute “proper” behavior. The only proper behavior aside from being a morally healthy person is to be true to yourself; to follow your conscience, and treat others as you’d wish to be treated.
Embrace the Differences
Humans were never meant to be clones of each other, behaving, thinking, nor looking the same. Our strength lies, not in sameness, but in diversity. Diversity gets smothered by other peoples’ ideas of what is acceptable, be it looks, thoughts, or behavior. You can be introverted, extroverted, adventurous, careful, scientific, artistic, and a million other qualities and characteristics in any amount or combination you choose. No one; not even your parents should dictate those things to you. We, as a society need to become more of an open, safe space for learning and exploration, than a factory for molding.
One thing that does make me happy is seeing my daughter learning from some of my mistakes, and providing that open, resource-rich environment for her kids. Maybe, in some small way, my rebellious, outspoken, non-conforming nature got through, maybe not in content, but in form.
About the Author
Sheri Conaway is a Holistic Ghostwriter, and an advocate for cats and mental health. 
Sheri believes in the Laws of Attraction, but only if you are a participant rather than just an observer. Her mission is to Make Vulnerable Beautiful and help entrepreneurs touch the souls of their readers and clients so they can increase their impact and their income.
If you’d like to have her write for you, please visit her Hire Me page for more information. You can also find her on Facebook Sheri Levenstein-Conaway Author.
Be sure to watch this space for news of the upcoming releases of ” Rebuilding After Suicide” and “Sasha’s Journey”.
